


Put your circuits in the sea

by oddishly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam fucked his brother last night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put your circuits in the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deirdre_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_c/gifts).



> For the wonderful deirdre_c, for her birthday FOUR YEARS AGO. That’s right, this fic has taken me four years to write, one way or another. She is just that worth spending that long on! glovered and cherie_morte have both read this for me repeatedly and told me how to fix it and that yes it was worth finishing and that no it wasn’t terrible, so if you’re still here, it’s because of them. HAPPY LATE LATE LATE LATE AND EARLY BIRTHDAY DEI! Everyone else, especially the everyone else I know in real life: if gay underage incest porn isn’t your thing, here is a good place to stop reading.

Sam fucked his brother last night. Today, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s not like he can promise to call someone he’s shared a room and the backseat with his entire life, he’s just rattling around the house while he waits for Dean to come back from his shift.

Bored, Sam wanders into the kitchen and re-explores the fridge. It's warm in the kitchen--he shouldn't have opened the windows. It’s the end of the summer and John’s working for a butcher in the next town over, Dean’s been picking up hours at a deli down the street, and Sam is sick of leftovers. Next summer he’s going to petition for at least one of them to work on a potato farm. He reaches into the fridge for a handful of carrots and starts peeling.

"Sam?"

Dean's head pokes around the back door and a rush of pleasure floods through Sam. He puts down the paring knife and looks at him, at all the freckles that have popped up on the bridge of his nose. Sam’s heart races.

"C'mere a minute."

Sam frowns. "Why? What are you going to do?"

"That's not very nice," says Dean. He disappears back outside. "Dad's gonna be a while, come on."

Sam takes off his apron and picks up the Bud he's not supposed to have, swigs it and leaves it on the counter. The soles of his feet stick noisily to the laminate when he walks to the back door, and he eyes the little lines of dead insects trailed along the windowsills and around the bottoms of the plant pots.

Dean's waiting for him by the pool, crouched by the grate. Sam approaches warily. Last time something with too many wrong-coloured legs lived inside, they spent the evening barricading the windows after it skittered out and away. John wasn't pleased. Neither was Sam, although he tried very hard not to show it, and next morning he coaxed the spider down from the back corner of the cereal shelf and took it to school in a jar. 

"Come on," says Dean. He's plucking at the grate with his fingertips so there's probably not a spider in there. Sam moves closer, picking his way through an expansive herb garden that mostly consists of scraggly lavender bushes and the occasional dead basil to reach him.

"Look," says Dean, "it's a –"

Sometimes, like now, when's Sam's supposed to be off-guard, he doesn't trust his brother. He's been at home on his own all morning and he could use a little excitement. When he gets close enough to Dean, he reaches out and shoves.

Dean yells on his way into the water, a great wave flooding up over the edge as he tumbles to the bottom of the pool. Sam grins, rocking on his heels at the edge of it. He calls, “You’re not gonna get me like that,” because Dean will understand even if he can’t hear. He snaps his fingers, waiting eagerly for Dean to come up and make a fuss.

Dean doesn't come up. He floats face-down, limbs loose, then twists the other way up, propelling himself along under the water like a turtle on his back. He makes faces at Sam from the bottom, apparently happy to stay wet now he's wet. Sam watches him kick off his jeans, although Dean’s boxers and t-shirt stay on. He stares and ignores the sweat beading along his collarbone.

The first time Sam and Dean had sex was three weeks ago, just twenty minutes after the first time Sam had sex with Miranda Clare from his chem class. He’d snuck out of her room and out the back gate, down the manicured sidewalks toward the poorer side of town, experienced a brief fantasy that he would follow through and call her, and then promptly forgot that promise when he slipped through the rusted screen door and got a look at Dean’s face. 

“Don’t ever leave without telling me where you’re going again,” growled Dean as if he hadn’t known all week that tonight was the night. There was something supercharged about the moment, and it was somehow less surprising than it should have been when he pushed Sam to the sofa and sucked him off while Sam moaned and sighed and their dad snored in the bedroom behind them. Sam never did make that call.

Now he curls and uncurls his toes over the edge of the pool. Dean's not retaliating the way he wanted, instead turning lazy somersaults at the deep end. Sam wanted him to rocket out of the water looking like before, all enraged and dark-eyed and intent.

“I pissed in the water yesterday,” he says, loud and untruthful. “And this morning.”

Dean pauses his somersaults to break the surface and steal a breath of air, then dives back down to reply from under the water. He's probably not even speaking in English.

Sam wants to go back inside but sits down instead, feet in the water. Dean's going to have to come up again in a minute. It's so hot and Sam wants to take his shirt off but that would feel like giving in. He grips hold of his thigh to stop himself jittering.

Dean raises his arms in a question.

"Dad's not going to be gone forever,” Sam tells him. “You're wasting time."

Dean allows himself to rise to the surface, hair swimming around his face and shirt white and thin and clinging to his shoulders. Dean has spent most of the summer doing pull-ups on the monkey bars in the park three blocks from their house and it shows.

Dean’s grin is wide, all white teeth and bronzed arms. Sam tries to hold onto his sulk. It’s hard. He clears his throat. “Dad's going to come home soon."

"Oh yeah?" Dean stays right where he is in the middle of the pool, still looking at Sam like he’s aware of everything that Sam's been asking for.

Sam feels himself flush. “Yeah,” he says, glaring at his knees so he doesn't have to look at his brother. He plans his doesn't give a shit walk back to the kitchen. “I’m going to get lunch.” There’s a drop of sweat crawling down his nose and now it's hanging there at the tip. He holds his breath, hating himself.

Dean sinks below the water then back up as Sam watches from under his eyelashes. “I don’t think so,” he says. He swims two feet closer and stands to brush his hair out of his face. “I think we’ve got all day, same as every other day.” He touches the neck of his shirt and comes closer to Sam. “Or do you know something I don’t?”

“He might come back early today.”

“He won’t.” Dean doesn’t stop when he reaches Sam, doesn’t even look down as he reaches out with both hands and pushes Sam’s legs apart. “Stop being difficult.”

"I'm –"

"You are," says Dean as he drags Sam’s head down for a kiss, one hand around the back of Sam’s neck, tongue in Sam’s mouth at the first part of his lips.

Sam grabs for whatever part of Dean he can find as he slips into the water, hands settling on Dean’s neck and tugging at his t-shirt, kissing Dean’s mouth as hard as he can, desperate and angry even though Dean’s here now.

“You’re a brat,” Dean mumbles as if he can read Sam’s thoughts, and snakes his arms around Sam’s waist to pull him closer. Sam jitters at the feel of Dean pressed along the length of his own body, the splash of cold water between them. 

“Calm down, christ,” Dean hushes. “That was a good time last night, by the way.” His mouth quirks. “A fucking good fucking. What do you say? Wanna do it again?”

“Yeah,” Sam says against his mouth, and he drags Dean down into deeper water. Dean staggers back and Sam yanks him upright, ignoring his spluttering and dragging him gracelessly to trap him against the side of the pool. He kisses him again, the way he’d been imagining all morning, pushing a leg between Dean’s and holding him there against the tile and concrete. Dean lets him do what he needs to, dropping his head as Sam drags his mouth along his neck, grabbing at Sam’s arms to stop him from falling when Sam can’t hold the two of them upright and kiss Dean the way he wants at the same time. 

The water splashes over Sam’s face again.

He drops one hand to Dean’s boxers, closing his fingers around his dick and squeezing. He wants to feel his brother when he’s hard. Dean huffs and Sam holds his gaze, surging with pride when Dean drops his head to Sam’s shoulder. He pushes his dick into Dean’s thigh, and does it again when Dean _hmms_ louder than Sam thinks he intended.

“Oh, you think you’re so good, huh,” Dean breathes, but he doesn’t seem so inclined to give Sam any more shit than that, holding him right where he is.

Sam laughs a little and pulls Dean’s head sideways to put his face against his neck. Dean makes a thoughtful noise in his throat that vibrates through him. Sam breathes him all in.

"That chlorine smell doing it for you?" Dean says in his low voice, pumping his hips a little so that Sam can't pull away.

"You do it for me," Sam replies in the same voice. "All the time." He wants Dean to understand, wants to make him get it, and it hurts when Dean laughs a little into his shoulder. "I mean it--"

"I know." Dean places his palms on Sam's shoulders and pushes him back gently. "Hey, whoa, did I say stop? You put that hand back, kiddo."

Sam flushes. "Don't call me that." He hesitates, then reaches for Dean's cock again, this time going under the waistband of his boxers. It feels like they’re swimming in bath water, and Sam tries not to think about what else might be swimming in it. He tightens his fingers.

"Nice," says Dean. His eyelids fall and he smiles lazily at Sam. "Isn't this better?" He keeps one hand on Sam's chest and slides the other down to press against his cock. Sam wonders if they’re going to do it like before, and he gasps when Dean goes further, sliding the tip of his finger into Sam’s asshole. Sam lets his mouth drop open, shivering.

“Yeah.” He squeezes his fingers around Dean’s cock and pulls, keeping it slow while Dean’s finger fucks in gently. “This is great.” 

They don’t make a habit of foreplay, and the press of Dean’s knuckles between them is driving him crazy. He leans against Dean, lowering his head to his shoulder and trying to coax his mind into drifting instead of racing. He keeps the circle of his hand comfortable but closes his fingers in a little as he brings his hand back up Dean’s cock. 

“Very nice,” Dean breathes against his neck. “You’ve been practicing.”

Sam’s cheeks heat and he abruptly lets go. “Whatever.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows. He pulls his finger out gently and Sam swallows, bereft, as Dean tips sideways and reaches to heave himself up onto the side of the pool. He leans back, legs spread wide in the water and mouth set in that infuriating quirk. Sam can’t look away, frustration building and melting out of him in turn.

“Want me to suck you off?” Dean offers, almost matter-of-factly, except for his twitching lips. “That’ll shut me up. Or, you know, _you_ could...” He spreads his legs wider and tips his head.

“Yeah,” Sam chokes out. He wants to die when Dean doesn’t make a move, forcing Sam to decide. He doesn’t know which he wants more.

He grabs Dean’s thigh with one hand and pushes at his chest with the other until Dean lowers himself down onto his back, head pillowed on his hands. Sam feels more in control now he doesn’t have Dean watching, and stares at the obvious bulge of Dean’s dick, the thick, rigid line of it in his soaked boxers. He grips Dean’s leg harder.

“That’s it, Sammy,” Dean croons like a weirdo. “I know you like it when you get to hold me down.”

It’s not all Sam likes. He likes it when Dean holds him down, too. But he’s so turned on, and the August heat is making him crazy, and he has no complaints. 

Dean’s hand drifts to rest on Sam’s dick. “You want me to do you?” 

Sam hesitates as Dean curls his fingers. Then he says, “Don’t,” and does his best to vault out of the pool, fumbling on shaky arms and resorting to some sort of seal-slide on his stomach to make it out the rest of the way. He yanks his boxer shorts down with his jeans and drops the lot in the pool by mistake when he shakes them off.

Dean stays quiet. Sam’s distressingly certain that Dean could laugh the whole way down Sam’s body to his dick and it wouldn’t stop Sam from coming ten seconds later, but to be sure, he swings his leg over Dean’s body and slips three fingers in his brother’s mouth before allowing himself to really pay attention to what’s happening.

Dean brushes Sam’s fingers with his tongue, rolling it wetly around the tips. Sam wrinkles his nose and Dean snorts. “No?”

“Yes,” Sam says. He shuffles up Dean’s chest with his knees on either side and presses his dick against Dean’s lips. He pushes the head in when Dean opens his mouth.

Dean sucks a little, his neck bent an angle to get Sam in his mouth. “That’s right,” Sam tells him. Dean catches his eye and Sam squashes his nerves to say, “You’ve had it harder than this.”

Dean’s cheeks flare and Sam’s cock falls from his lips. Sam crawls until he’s kneeling most of the way over Dean without making it too easy for him, and pushes back inside, a little more this time. Dean makes a surprised noise that Sam likes. “Good,” he tells Dean, bracing himself on the patio tiles on either side of Dean’s head. “Suck.”

Dean moans. He wraps his tongue around what he can of Sam’s cock and closes his lips around him, sucking hard to make up for what he can’t reach. Sam stares, holding his own eyes open with a monumental effort so he can keep Dean’s gaze while he pushes his cock slowly into his mouth. He’s torn between letting Dean breathe and filling his mouth, mind full of his own boldness and what Dean’s going to do about it later. 

If Sam decides to let him, that is.

Dean’s eyes drop closed and Sam pulls his cock out of his mouth. “Open,” he says, too quickly to sound authoritative but Dean obeys and widens his mouth to take Sam in again without question or comment. Heat blazes down Sam’s chest and he pushes his cock in deeper and wetter, shutting himself up as well as Dean. He thinks Dean gets it, anyway. 

Dean sucks in noisy breaths whenever Sam pulls out. Sam wonders what Dean’s cock looks like now and how wet he’s leaking, and forces himself not to look. He decides to ask Dean instead. 

“This getting you off?” he manages, hoping Dean remembered not to touch himself and thinking about what it would look like if he forgot and kept on squeezing himself through his wet boxers. Sam doesn’t think he would know how to punish him for it but he likes that he can think about it for next time. 

Dean makes some sort of groan around Sam’s cock, lips glistening. Sam shuffles up on his knees to fuck his mouth easier. He wants Dean to put his finger back in his ass. “Wish you could fuck me at the same time,” he says. His face heats and he says, brave with desperation, “Want your dick.”

Dean groans more but continues sucking diligently. Sam fucks in and in and grabs for Dean’s hair, then his ear, ends up with his fingers covering one side of Dean’s face to keep him there as he pushes his dick into Dean’s noises and comes. His cock pulses in Dean’s mouth with Dean’s tongue working on Sam, Dean’s hands on his waist and odd jerks of his hips as he tries to find friction against nothing. Sam bites his lip against the moans he wants to make to please his brother, too weirded out by the easy afternoon quiet to give in to it, figuring he’s allowed a pass for holding him down in the backyard and at the edge of the swimming pool. 

He lets his hand slip from Dean’s head to the tile and goes up a little on his knees on either side of Dean’s head to push his dick deeper into Dean’s mouth for the last second. He forces himself to meet Dean’s gaze as he does, and, as he pulls away and his dick slips out of Dean’s mouth, realises that an ice cream truck is driving by playing something familiar. It rolls around Sam’s mind until he identifies it as _Jingle Bells_ and he frowns.

“Mood killer, eh?” Dean’s mouth tries to do that infuriating smirk again but it doesn’t quite make it, and Sam remembers, suddenly, as he sometimes does at inopportune moments like this, that they’re both still John’s sons and Dean isn’t that much older than Sam is, not really.

Instead of answering, he reaches behind and finds Dean’s cock hot and hard, jerking in his hand when Sam wraps his fingers around it awkwardly. He doesn’t think he can handle praise right now, fairly sure they’ll both end up embarrassed in a horribly awful way, so he decides to leave it up to Dean’s dick and says, “You can fuck me, if--”

“Yeah,” says Dean. He bucks his hips with all his weight and looks surprised when Sam doesn’t follow instruction. “On your back, bro, spread ‘em.”

Sam squeezes Dean’s cock lightly, breathless with daring. “No,” he says. “I don’t want it like that.”

Dean’s eyebrows do something that means he’s not as charmed as he sometimes decides to be. “How’d you want it, then?”

“Like this,” says Sam, and shifts his weight so he’s resting on top of Dean’s dick, just Dean’s boxers between his ass and Dean.

Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the ice cream truck wends its way down the street to the school and out of earshot. Sam is going to have _Jingle Bells_ stuck in his head until actual Christmas.

“Okay,” says Dean. His hips jerk up again, maybe involuntarily, Sam thinks.

He eyes his jeans floating under the water. His wallet and 12 lubricated condoms are right there in the back pocket, waiting for Sam to dive in in the name of lubrication and safe sex. Sam doesn’t want to dive in.

“Jeans,” says Dean while Sam rocks on top of his dick and tries to decide what to do. “Lube in the front pocket.” He gestures at his own jeans floating past within arm’s reach.

Sam doesn’t stop it with the rocking but it’s a near thing. “You carry lube around? In your pants pocket?”

“It’s your ass,” says Dean easily. He bucks up a little harder. “You want it dry?”

“No. God.”

“Then it’s condom lube or accepting that I’m the superior fucker who came with something better. Hop to.”

Sam reaches to snag the jeans as ordered before Dean can comment on his blush. He crawls back as Dean tosses his boxers behind him to land in a lavender bush, situating himself just above Dean’s hipbones. He does his best to slick his fingers, then reaches behind him and grasps Dean’s dick, sliding his hand down slowly and tightening his fingers as Dean’s eyes darken. “Good?”

“Yeah,” says Dean, “so you should get on me right now.”

Sam breathes. “No, uh--”

“You need more?” Dean lifts his hips a little to get Sam up on his knees over him, and reaches under to slip the tip of his finger into his ass. “More?” He pushes in, up to the knuckle.

“Yeah,” says Sam. “Another.”

Dean obliges. Sam’s good but he wants to make Dean wait longer. He likes thinking about Dean getting desperate, controlling him without Dean realising.

“How about now?” asks Dean. There’s a note to his voice that might mean he knows more about what Sam likes than Sam thought. Sam clears his throat and nods.

Dean shifts beneath him. “Okay,” he says, and pulls his fingers out. Sam has a wild moment of thinking about what this must look like, the two of them naked and sweating at the side of the pool, clothes strewn around them, sun bright overhead, and then Dean’s dick is nudging up against his ass. 

“Your move,” says Dean, so Sam takes a breath and sinks down, holding Dean’s gaze. It’s different like this, Dean’s dick feels bigger in his ass, and Sam thinks he was born for this. He looks over Dean’s nose, his mouth, drags his gaze down Dean’s neck and across the rise and fall of his chest. Dean’s cock is thick inside him and he lifts off until just the head is there, then lowers himself all the way back down. He shifts, widens his knees to get lower, holding Dean down with more of his body. He puts his hand flat on Dean’s chest, presses him down as he pulls back off.

Dean is a sight, mouth open, skin glistening with sweat, eyes fixed on Sam’s. Sam slides his free hand up Dean’s chest, then changes his mind and reaches for his own nipple, rolling it between his fingers self-consciously. Dean’s expression changes. Sam uses his nails and catches a noise in his throat.

“Sammy--”

“Didn’t say you could talk--”

“Don’t care,” says Dean. He thrusts up hard once, again, and Sam lets himself moan. “I’m still your big brother, I’ll do what I want.” 

“Not that big,” Sam says, to see what Dean will do, and is rewarded when Dean grabs his waist with both hands and lifts him enough to fuck up, mouth set in a furious line. Sam’s head drops and he shuts his eyes to ride him, letting go of his nipple to strip his cock instead. Dean drives into him, his cock hot, rigid, fingers pressed tight to his skin, sun and sweat prickling the back of Sam’s neck as he jerks himself off. Dean’s dick is hitting him exactly where it needs to, filling him with every rut.

Sam can hear his voice getting breathier and higher-pitched and doesn’t have the energy to feel ridiculous; he opens his eyes to see Dean bite his lip, and feels his balls tighten as he comes, electric pleasure rushing through him as Dean pauses and groans, coming inside of Sam. It’s exhilarating and upsetting, feeling everything all at once. Sam wants it to last forever.

He pulls himself off Dean carefully as his emotions build and change. He catches Dean’s eye through his hair, willing himself not to blush when Dean smiles at him, and manages to lie down beside him without embarrassing himself.

Every time feels like the first time. Dean’s fucked him in the car, the yard, their dad’s bed, sucked him off slowly and rimmed him until he cried, and Sam doesn’t know when it’s going to end and doesn’t want to. He can feel Dean’s body stilling beside him.

“You’re good at that,” says Dean, startling him.

Sam opens an eye, lifts himself up on an elbow on the wet tile. “At getting fucked?”

Dean shrugs a shoulder and doesn’t say anything, but Sam thinks he can see pride and affection and the same protective look as ever on his face with the smirk shaping his mouth.

He lies back down, shuts his eyes and rests his arm against Dean’s where they lie. Thinks about the next time.


End file.
